Nothing about Shelagh Rogers' distinctively sunny voice sounds like depression.

But, for a long time, the CBC radio host of Sounds Like Canada has suffered bouts of what she describes as "sliding into caves of emptiness."

She'd just tell herself to buck up.

Then, in 2003, off work to deal with high blood pressure, she fell more deeply depressed and even lost her voice. "It tends to hit you where you live," she says. "I was terrified I'd never go back to work."

Diagnosed with clinical depression, she went on medication and returned to radio. Now, weaned off drugs, she talks with a counsellor, tries to get eight hours of sleep a night and can recognize when symptoms first creep in, "like a low front."

At the end of this month, Rogers, 52, is leaving Sounds Like Canada to lessen her stress and develop other projects. She has become an advocate for mental health issues, as a guest on radio shows and host of discussions. "If this convinces one person to get help," she says, "that would be marvellous."

On Thursday, she and five others who have battled addiction or mental illness will receive Transforming Lives awards from the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. The awards (previously named The Courage to Come Back) go to those who have used their experience to help others or to people who have contributed to advances in mental health.

One recipient is former senator Michael Kirby, head of the newly minted Mental Health Commission of Canada. He's working to change public attitudes so mental illness is as acknowledged as breast cancer, a disease once not openly discussed.

That's one reason for the awards, to tell those stories of hard-won recovery. "They strike a substantial blow against the stigma surrounding mental illnesses and addiction," says CAMH senior medical adviser David Goldbloom.

Here are the stories of the other winners:

In his youth, it was booze and pot. In his 20s, cocaine, then crack. And nobody close to him guessed that Andrew Galloway, a successful entrepreneur who started three companies, was a drug addict.

"I always thought I could handle it," says Galloway, "and then it took my soul."

Eventually, he found himself unemployed, financially strapped, lying on his bed crying, sure he was going to die. He'd collapsed a couple of times from the cocaine use.

"I yelled at God to end it for me, to put me out of my misery," he says.

But God didn't. Galloway woke up the next morning and realized he had to take action. He told his parents and sister the truth and went into treatment.

His story is a happy one ' he has gone seven years without alcohol or drugs, is married and the father of a toddler, and works as a substance abuse counsellor in Toronto.

Clara Locey was 15 and at summer school when she met the friends who introduced her to drugs and raves. "I fell in love with the music scene," says Locey, now 23. "I was very young and had no self-esteem."

All in one year, she had a drug dealer boyfriend, progressed from ecstasy to crystal meth, dropped out of school, got beaten up and was sexually assaulted. After that, she sought drug treatment.

Now a top student majoring in sociology at York University, she speaks to youth about her experiences. "I learned what it means to respect yourself," she says.

At age 21, Montreal Canadiens draft pick Graeme Bonar suffered a badly injured ankle and was told his career was over.

He refused to believe it, spending several years bouncing around the minors, turning to alcohol, drugs and sex. "I became dependent on anything that would give me instant gratification," says Bonar.

Finally, at age 31, he went into treatment. His first day out, he relapsed.

That terrified him. He's now been sober for 12 years, works as an addictions clinician in Guelph and speaks about his experience to groups. Recovery, he says, is the toughest thing he's ever done.

"You have to rip the tree out by the trunk. You learn to live all over again."

For six years, Earla Dunbar's fears kept her housebound. She depended on her husband to shop. She'd venture out to the garden, then scurry in if she saw a neighbour. She was often afraid to use the phone and wouldn't answer the door.

She did, however, see a medical doctor and, gradually, talked a bit about her behaviour. "Something in me wanted to start living," says Dunbar, who had suffered panic attacks even as a child.

She was sent to a CAMH psychiatrist, whom she credits with saving her life. "He gave me hope from the first day I saw him."

Diagnosed with social phobia, panic disorder, agoraphobia and depression, she started on medication and cognitive behaviour therapy. That included leaving the house every day and keeping a record of her thoughts. She also had to volunteer at a seniors centre.

With encouragement from her psychiatrist, she founded a social phobia support group in 2001 that now boasts more than 100 members. She leads the group's weekly meetings at CAMH.

Dunbar, 54, is also a committee chair for the Anxiety Disorders Association of Canada. "No one should have to live in pain and suffer the way I did," she says.

Alex Troeger, 50, is clear about what has helped him cope: volunteering. "The more I give back, the more I gain in my own recovery," says Troeger, diagnosed with schizophrenia at 21.

He's president of the board of directors of a psychiatric survivors' self-help group in Waterloo and frequently gives speeches on mental health issues.

Over the years, he has volunteered for the Waterloo Initiative for Supportive Housing, run bingos, been the emcee at a walk for schizophrenia. "It gives me self-confidence and something to do so I don't get bored and depressed," he says.

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